Diagon Alley.
Shops everywhere.
Hylan couldn’t take it all in.
His eyes jumped from strange spell books to potion bottles to owls to ingredients he’d never seen before.
Each thing held his attention for a moment, then something stranger pulled it away.
He’d expected this.
But seeing the magical world with his own eyes still hit differently.
“Here.
Hogwarts provides an education fund.” McGonagall handed him a coin purse.
“You’ll need to budget carefully.”
“Thank you, Professor.
This is already a lot of money to me.”
McGonagall knew better.
The fund covered bare minimum expenses.
Less than that, really.
She considered adding some of her own money.
Enough for proper school supplies.
Whatever he saved could go toward improving his life.
But saying it outright might wound his pride.
Hylan checked the supply list and looked up.
“Professor, is there a secondhand shop for any of this?
Might save a bit.”
“I could help you.”
The words sat on her tongue.
She opened her mouth and let them go.
The boy had already found his own solution.
She’d only known him a short while, but she’d learned something.
Beneath that gentle manner, he had a streak of quiet stubbornness.
“Of course there is.
It takes a discerning eye, though.
I can teach you.
Consider it an impromptu lesson in wizarding basics.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
They wound through Diagon Alley, hunting down the list secondhand.
As they went, McGonagall explained the common sights.
She found him remarkably sharp.
He listened closely, asked questions when something didn’t make sense, and sometimes offered his own thoughts.
Whether or not he was Fabian’s son, she liked him.
“The Prewett brothers were both Gryffindors,” she caught herself thinking.
“But this one might end up in Ravenclaw.”
Soon they’d checked off most of the list.
The secondhand items all had flaws.
McGonagall had made sure everything functioned properly, but the looks were another matter.
The cauldron had a small chip at the rim.
The crystal phials were cloudy.
The work robes and pointed hat had no patches, but they were faded and didn’t fit quite right.
The owl looked half-asleep.
The books had all their pages, though some bindings were starting to come apart.
Everything looked worn.
But Hylan had asked for this himself.
He cared about whether something worked, not how it looked.
If McGonagall hadn’t stopped him, he’d have bought the robes with actual patches.
They were cheaper.
The owl was a gift from her.
She’d hinted he could pick a healthy one.
He’d chosen the drowsy one anyway.
No reason except the price.
It sat badly with her.
“One left.
Wand.” Hylan checked the list.
“A wand is not something you buy secondhand.”
McGonagall took the list and confirmed it.
Nothing remained but the wand.
She led him toward Ollivanders.
“Wands come from Ollivanders.
They’ve been crafting fine wands since 382 B.C.”
They cut through a side lane and reached the shop.
The first thing that caught the eye was a towering figure out front.
The man was enormous.
Wild hair, bristly beard, hands and feet like shovels.
The boy beside him looked like a doll by comparison.
“Professor McGonagall!
Didn’t expect to run into you here.”
The giant’s voice rumbled low.
She’d already noticed them.
Hard not to, at that height.
“Hagrid.
What a coincidence.” Her gaze drifted to the boy beside him.
“I see you’ve found a suitable wand.”
“Aye.
Important task from Professor Dumbledore himself.”
Hagrid hummed a little at the words “important task.” Dumbledore’s trust did that to him.
Hylan studied the boy his own age.
Round glasses.
Small frame.
His eyes went to the forehead almost on instinct.
Everyone who met Harry Potter for the first time probably looked for the lightning scar.
Harry was studying him too.
Pale kid.
Worn clothes.
Maybe he had a lousy aunt as well.
The adults talked.
The two boys watched each other in silence.
“Galloping Gorgons!
The boy’s the spitting image of Fabian!”
Hagrid’s voice hit McGonagall’s ears like a cart crashing through a wall.
She shot a glance at Hylan, then stepped closer to Hagrid.
Her voice came out hesitant.
“You see the resemblance too?”
“Resemblance?
It’s uncanny!”
Hagrid’s beard quivered, sweeping his chest clean.
“What’s your name, lad?”
“Hylan Prewett.
Sir.”
“Prewett!
Good heavens!” Hagrid’s eyes went wide.
He stared at McGonagall, then dropped his voice.
“Professor!
Where did you find him?
I never heard Fabian had a son.”
“Nothing is certain yet.”
She said it.
But the way she looked at Hylan had already changed.
“We should get that wand.
Hagrid, take Harry home.”
McGonagall watched the two figures retreat until Hylan’s voice pulled her back.
“Professor.
My father, Fabian Prewett.
He was a wizard too?
What was he like?
I don’t remember him at all.
Mrs.
Hazel mentioned him sometimes.
She always called him a deadbeat.
But I don’t think that’s true.”
He looked up at her, his expression touched with just the right sadness.
A smile that couldn’t quite hide the pain.
It was a familiar tactic.
The kid who cries gets the candy.
It worked.
McGonagall’s heart clenched.
“No.
Your father was a great wizard.
Nothing like that.
He died protecting the magical world, fighting dark wizards to the end.
He and his brother faced five Death Eaters…”
She couldn’t go on.
No list of heroic deeds could undo what this child had suffered.
Hylan kept his head down, lips pressed tight.
After a long moment, he asked quietly, “Was he brave?”
“Without question.
He was a hero.”
“Thank you for telling me about him, Professor.
He was brave.
My mother and I both forgive him.”
McGonagall had no words.
A hero’s son in threadbare clothes.
School supplies that looked like rubbish.
And still no bitterness.
He only asked if his father was brave.
Only said he and his mother forgave him.
Guilt rose in her chest like a small blade, cutting with every heartbeat.
“I’m rather tired.
I’ll wait out here, if you don’t mind.”
“Mr.
Ollivander will find the right wand for you.”
“Of course, Professor.”
Hylan smiled and stepped inside.
As he crossed the threshold, a small screen appeared before his eyes.
[You have triggered: Persistent Guilt]
[Description: It’s not your fault.
It’s the world’s fault.
People feel guilty around you.
For the duration (30 days), collect Guilt Value to redeem trait keywords.]
[Current Guilt Value: 134]
Available trait keywords:
[Spell Inspiration: You simpleton!
Can you even read these spells?
Slightly increased chance of inspiration while learning new spells.
(Cost: 200)]
[Muffled Presence: Shh.
No one’s looking at you.
Slightly reduced presence.
Harder to notice.
(Cost: 180)]
[Alchemist’s Touch: It’s going to blow!
Do you want your hand or the gold?
Slightly increased alchemy success rate.
(Cost: 200)]